I feel heavy
But i am still a stone
You could attempt to throw in the sky.
The dreams of my father
Are like boomerangs.
You throw them lightly
And they come back
Ready to bite
Strength as twice as my lies.
I wish i can throw my father in the air
Maybe he would come back
To cut
The lump that feeds on swallowing
My tongue
Every Time i attempt to say
” I cant be enough
I don’t want to be enough”
My father
The mathematician
Who can’t count
How brokenness fits into a minute?
Do you partition a life of falling
Into minutes of doubts?
Do you cut a second to half
And hold your breath when you don’t know what needs to be used out?
In what clock do we measure
The guilt of knocking ourselves out?
Time has failed us
If it cannot keep track of our own withouts?
Each tick needs to record
The desire to fly
It’s quarter past landing
Its half past rising
Because death is what i have known as that which has been called a crash
we have been living off the ground
The collision of aspirations with time out.
How many hours will my father work
Before he knows that people burn out?
My tears won’t even fill up a bottle
To cool him off
Maybe that’s the problem of not teaching sons
How to milk their eyes
for even, if i recycle my mother’s tears
Every Time he left to fuck someone’s wife
They won’t be enough
That’s why we need to cry for one another
Because we might harvest enough
To save one life.
Bhengu Thabiso is a producer for the Big Debate Season 7. A social justice programme on e.tv. He is currently finishing his B.A degree in Economics and Politics. He does not own a cat and is attempting to finish his novel with a working title,” An Owl’s Nightmare”. A story about inheriting witchcraft as a gift and how the city constructs itself around historical intergenerational conflicts that people are not aware of. Twitter handle @fistvoices